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 Nov 2015 Shantayah
Celeste
Poems
 Nov 2015 Shantayah
Celeste
Poems expose my vulnerability
But it's something about the tranquility
that keeps me writing again and again
I like it when
they are my escape
from this world of hate
Most of my poems are sad
but that is how I get past being mad
I like to write
All day and night
I prefer my friends and family do not read
what secrets I keep inside of me
I'm scared of people knowing
About what my poems are showing
Honestly they don't show me
And how happy life could be
But they do show small parts
of my heart
I just need to try
and write things my
feelings always feel
like maybe about the happy appeal
Either way I'm happy with this
Writing poems and feeling Bliss
Writing poems on here.
 Nov 2015 Shantayah
Nat Lipstadt
A Birthday Poem for Sally B:
what-matters-can-neither-be-created-or-destroyed

~~~

the principal thing about principles,
like the concept of time,
that in time, with time,
they come to reflect our
immutable essence's own best reflection,
come only, round or square
come only, too little too late
come, too much too soon

so the simpler, the better,
so the matter
of what really matters
needs capture in some
capsulated summary form,
a daily vitamin for the soul

so I thank you for
the gift
of your birthday,
the anibersaryo of a day of naissance,
this one solo, kakaiba,
among the many,
a present presented to the world

*so on this particular day,
we must thank you
for the wonder of wonder
that justifies existence,
for what truly matters

cannot be created or destroyed,

and your matter, mass,
your presence's  Grace upon this earth,
graces the hearts of thousands,
today and forevermore

this is what matters and
can never be recreated,
can never be destroyed...

~~~
Oct. 24, 2015
6:24 am
dispatched from NYC
~~~
Oct 6, 2013      October 20, 2013
The Banyan Tree (A Tribute to Sally)
I am a man, grandfather to four.
Adherent to the same religion,
Poetry.

Breathing through mine eyes,
Exhaling carbon words,
That with time and pressure become
Poems, verbal musical notes upon life.

Each motion, from tiny to grand,
A capsule of expression,
That if examined under microscope,
Familial DNA, interconnected tissue,
Discovered, tho logic says,  
Time and distance render impossible.

But this is a diamond
This is a writ to be slipped
Upon the finger, the heart, the essence,
Of the only Banyan tree I have hugged.

This poem but a fig,
In the cracks of kindness,
The crevices of caring,
It has slow germinated.

You dear, Sally,
My host,
A building upon I can lean,
When wearied spirits uproot
My surficial composure.

Your seeds carried from east to west,
By a fig wasp, a bird unknown,
An ocean voyager, of indisputable vision, strength.

This seeded messenger, word carrier,
Supplanted in me, and your pupils,
Jose-Bolima-Remillan
Xavier-Paolo-Joshh-Mandrez
Whose very names breathe poems,
in others too, like me and Atu,
Seeds to become new roots, but you,
Our Host official and forever
Planter of trees of loving kindness.

You already know with love and affection,
I call you Grandma Sally,
And when you ask, beseech,
I cannot refuse.

Together we will will banish the sad,
Acknowledge we, that life's ocean,
A mixture of many, even sad, a necessity.

But I promise that will turn it into
Something simple, something good.
For you have asked and I answer you
Right here right now - your wish,
My objective, deep rooted like you,
Like an old banyan tree,
Your roots spread far, spread wide.

So some eve, when to the beach, to the sky
You glance, smile, no matter what, troubles dispersed,
For the reflection of you, seeds, full fledged trees now,
Bending skywards, in search of your rays of expression,
Your maternal wisdom rooted, spread so wide, globally,
All over this Earth, is visible from your
Beloved Philippines.


---------------------------------------
In her own words..

I am a widow,
with five remarkable granddaughters....
all beautiful, intelligent girls.
It is such a waste not to write....
each morning that unfolds is filled
with things to write about....
the people, the birds,
the trees, the wind,
the seas,
everything we set our eyes on,
they are all
poetry in motion.
Life itself is poetry,
I always have pen and paper within reach.
My past experiences are a
never-ending source
of ideas and words for my poems....
I shall write until time permits me,
"til there's breath within me."
-------------------------------------------------
A banyan (also banian) is a fig that starts its life as an epiphyte (a plant growing on another plant) when its seeds germinate in the cracks and crevices on a host tree (or on structures like buildings and bridges). "Banyan" often refers specifically to the Indian banyan or Ficus benghalensis, the national tree of India,[1] though the term has been generalized to include all figs that share a characteristic life cycle...
Like other fig species (which includes the common edible fig Ficus carica), banyans have unique fruit structures and are dependent on fig wasps for reproduction. The seeds of banyans are dispersed by fruit-eating birds. The seeds germinate and send down roots towards the ground.

The leaves of the banyan tree are large, leathery, glossy green and elliptical in shape. Like most fig-trees, the leaf bud is covered by two large scales. As the leaf develops the scales fall. Young leaves have an attractive reddish tinge.[6]

Older banyan trees are characterized by their aerial prop roots that grow into thick woody trunks which, with age, can become indistinguishable from the main trunk. The original support tree can sometimes die, so that the banyan becomes a "columnar tree" with a hollow central core. Old trees can spread out laterally using these prop roots to cover a wide area.
It's warm.
Like smoke,
Shapeless,
Pushing my sins through my pores
To be cleansed by the crying sky.

This feeling,
This reality
Is crumbling down
Around my feet....

With arms wide,
and skyward eyes
I look for the answers..

This rain...

It dwells inside the cave of my Self.
Past the Guardians
Past the ego, the shadow,
The Anima, the Animus,
This truth I hold now

It comes to me as
Red and floating, weightless
Wrapping around my conscience,
Lifting me up, to the heights of
This existence
To the levels of a higher sentient.

I am safe here.
With chills in my spine,
And closed, but wandering eyes,
I peer inside,
The only place I can really call home.
 Aug 2015 Shantayah
ThePoet
I don't wish
for myself to die,
but I wish that
I was never born
I wouldn't die
after I'm broken,
but I'd be dead
before I'm torn

©
I didn't tell you about the life I led
The number of times I bled
I didn't show you the chapters I read
I wanted not pity to be the reason you stayed
I didn't show you the towns I've been through
I didn't want you to partake of the melancholy they brew
Didn't speak about how I fed on tough times till I grew
I regret never letting you in, you don't have to believe it's true
I didn't want to tell a single lie or see you cry
I didn't want to fail that's why I didn't try
All moments I was close enough to feel your sigh
When you helped me with my collar and tie
I didn't speak about how much I wanted your lips
Wish I had trusted my pips with their cunning tips
I didn't let the skeletons out of the closet for fears
They would hurt you and flood your eyes and heart in tears
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